


FIC:  Holiness is Relative

by Hippediva



Category: Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-10
Updated: 2004-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippediva/pseuds/Hippediva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is for <a href="http://khohen1.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://khohen1.livejournal.com/"><b>khohen1</b></a>  I promised her the Seven Holy Virtues.  Thanks for the chance to play with these concepts, luv!  These are pre-blinding....almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC:  Holiness is Relative

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
bouncy  
---|---  
**Current music:** | Malaguena Salerosa  
  
_**FIC: Holiness is Relative**_  
DISCLAIMER: Rodriguez is the God, JD is 'enry 'iggins and I'm Liza  
PAIRING: Sands  
FB: alway loved

SUMMARY: This is for [](http://khohen1.livejournal.com/profile)[**khohen1**](http://khohen1.livejournal.com/) I promised her the Seven Holy Virtues. Thanks for the chance to play with these concepts, luv! These are pre-blinding....almost.

**Faith**

"Give me a moment."

He ducked out of the confessional, stripping off the beard as he pushed open the back door.

That's when the shooting started.

He leaned back against the wall, checked his watch, then hit speedial.

"Are you still standing."

Of course you are.

  
**Hope**

How the hell did I get here?

His whole body felt like cotton candy. He tried to turn his head, tried to see through the hazy edges and slammed an icepick of panic back into his brain.

Um. yeah, okay. This isn't so good.

"....you'll have every Marine from here to Guantanamo Bay up your keester. Mister."

Vain, Sheldon.

  
**Charity**

His armpits were sticky, the sweat running down his temples into fresh washed hair.

He watched the frozen shock, could smell the terror from a hundred yards away, lurched with the blood-spattered haunches flexing in the charge.

Spikes of doom, baby.

He leaned forward. "Go collect."

Hey, at least it was quick.

  
**Prudence**

He held up the ten, aware that the fake mustache was tickling something fierce and making his nose itch.

"This should hold the both of us for a long time. Fuck off."

Ten dollars could buy all sorts of insurance in Mexico.

  
**Justice**

That ice he always felt just before was creeping from his neck down to his ass. A Dairy-Queen freeze that burned hotter than anger and left only the core of him pulsing and heated.

"That spill just cost you your life."

I don't believe in accidents, fuckwad.

  
**Temperance**

It spat the pork out with operatic vehemence. Aren't we being a tad overdramatic here?

He ate the rest of it, trying to ignore the way his solar plexus jumped at the thought of the ambush waiting at the church. The spices blended into another scent, much more visceral.

He signed the check and headed into the kitchen.

Why wait?

  
**Fortitude**

He could smell her perfume amid cordite and dust, a lingering whiff of sweet sweat and sweeter juices.

His spine straightened as she fell to her knees, then crumpled at his feet.

"No."

  


Off to Vegas again in the early am. Dawn over the desert! Wish me luck, chicas!


End file.
